Want
by Essex Cole
Summary: Tweek has returned from the grave with a mysterious "task" that may or may not involve Craig. Creek, maybe others down the line.
1. It's The Same Old Game

**AN: Me again! Or just me, if you haven't read either of my other stories. Well, er, yeah, I'm releasing this on a whim at 3:28 in the morning. I told myself I wouldn't let it out until chapter two is ****done****, but since that's almost through, I'll just release it now. =/ I hope you like it! (cont'd at end)**

It had been a month since Tweek Tweak had killed himself. People were finally starting to talk about other things again, which made life a hell of a lot easier on Craig Tucker.

Everyone had known about Tweek's huge crush on Craig. They had been friends back in middle school, sure, but then Tweek switched teams and Craig ditched him. It was stupid, almost, the way the _hyperactive guy would get all shy around Craig, trying to sit near him in classes, attempting to start up_ conversations at lunch—even going so far as to "discreetly" tail him in the hallways. (The problem with this plan was that absolutely nothing about Tweek was discreet—his shock of blonde hair, his random outbursts of "Gah!" or some other form of surprise, the spastic way he twitched around, and the lingering scent of Colombian coffee made him obscenely ostentatious.) Craig wasn't interested in any way—he didn't want any guy to have those kinds of feelings for him, ever. But Tweek didn't give up. Sometimes, he even invited Craig to swing by Tweek's Coffee, the coffee joint his parents owned and which Tweek worked at. Despite the fact that he refused every time, Tweek never gave up. And that was annoying.

Amazingly, Tweek kept trying all the way through junior year. Craig treated him like dirt every day, sneering at his tics, rolling his eyes when Tweek spoke, even pushing him into the lockers once or twice with the other guys from football when they were in bad moods (Token and Clyde never took part in this, but they were the only withholders). But Tweek never gave up hope. He pretended he didn't like Craig, but it was obvious to everyone else, and he suffered for it. Yet for some reason, Tweek had fallen head over heels for the asshole that was Craig. And Craig didn't give a shit, taking the crush completely for granted. Taking Tweek's resilience for granted.

But on the fifth day of senior year, Tweek hadn't shown up to school. Craig had thought it was great, finally having a day where he didn't get shit from the guys about how much Tweek loved him (they even went so far as to sing an altered version of the chorus to Lady Gaga's "Paparazzi" loudly in the cafeteria once). Craig felt free, walking the halls without the creepy feeling of eyes glued to his back—sometimes even lower than his back, Craig shuddered to think. It was a good day.

Until he got home and found that it was all over the news about the tragic suicide of a South Park teenager. He was only seventeen years old. He had slit his wrists about twenty times on each arm, leaving only a love letter addressed to Craig Tucker.

At school, he heard the whispers. Most of the girls were crying and hugging each other, which Craig found funny, since they had picked on Tweek too. But the guys were all about the whispering, watching Craig intently as he went through his school day. He didn't know if they thought he was going to burst into tears or what, but it was awkward.

Only one girl was different. She had pulled him aside, smirking, saying, "Want to go out sometime? I hear you're to die for." And she was serious. Surprising himself, Craig had told the bitch to shut the fuck up. Luckily, Cartman didn't try to get funny about it, because Craig wouldn't have known whether to laugh or to punch him in the face.

In fifth period, he was called down to guidance. The counselor, an annoying bitch, had handed him Tweek's note and asked if he wanted to talk about it. When he said no, she told him he could go home. It was pouring rain outside, and Craig snorted at how fucking cliché the whole thing was. His words got a little more colourful when his truck refused to start and he had to walk home.

He had stuffed Tweek's letter in the dresser drawer he never used along with other useless papers and tried to forget about it. He didn't want to know what it said.

"Craig, we're meeting tomorrow to work on the project, right?" Craig nodded in Jason's direction and headed for the door. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible; there was a Red Racer marathon starting soon and even as a high school senior Craig had not given up on his guilty pleasure TV show.

When he did get home, he kicked off his shoes and ran up to his room in his socks to dump his backpack. He tossed the bag on his bed and was about to go back for the stairs when he noticed two pieces of paper taped to the side of the door facing the interior of his room. Assuming it was a note from his mother, he paused to glance it over, but froze when he realized it was the letter from Tweek.

"What the fuck?" he questioned his door, ripping the papers down before he could read any of the words on them. He fully intended to question his bitch of a sister when she got home from dance or gymnastics or horseback riding or whatever the hell kind of lessons she was taking. He headed over to his dresser to put the pages back where they belonged, but he couldn't help but to notice that someone had written, "**How come you never read my letter?**" across the top of the first page.

Craig frowned. Creepily, this new addition was written in Tweek's oddly neat cursive. This was one hell of a prank Ruby was playing on him, and despite himself, he was getting kind of weirded out.

He shook himself a little and continued to his dresser, where he opened the bottom drawer and tossed it back in. The little brat would get hers later.

Rushing back downstairs, Craig leapt onto the sofa, scrambling for the remote to turn on the television. The first episode of the marathon had already started, but luckily, he had seen each episode about a million times already.

His phone vibrated on his lap just as he had gotten comfortable and he frowned as he opened the text message. It was from Nellie, and it read, "**I cnt bliev u! :(**." Assuming she was referring to how she had caught Craig cheating on her, he opted not to respond, turning his attention back to Red Racer.

He was bothered by how everyone assumed he was a heartless asshole. Sure, he had been one, once upon a time, but the truth was, he had grown up a little in sophomore year.

Girls liked Craig. They always had. But he never knew what to do when he wasn't interested.

So Craig dated everyone. And Craig allowed himself to be caught cheating by everyone. Sooner or later, he figured, the girls would figure it out—hopefully they'd interpret it as sensitivity rather than cowardice, because chicks only dug the former—but until then, Craig was constantly thrown into relationships he didn't want.

All he ever wanted was to get his high school diploma, get out of South Park, and ultimately, disappear. He didn't need any people.

And the way Clyde and Token had treated him after Tweek…passed away, was surprising. They had always called Craig out on being too harsh with him when all he'd ever done was try to shake the kid off. Craig had already tried being nice. Tweek was a creepy loser who had stalked him like a fangirl stalks those Jonas Brothers (what the fuck was so special about them anyway?). He wasn't going to give up. But Clyde and Token kept preaching on even after the spaz was dead about how Craig needed to come to terms with himself and give _Tweek_ closure (uh, yeah. How the hell was he supposed to do that, right?).

Why had everyone acted like his suicide was all Craig's fault? It wasn't. Anyone else would have taken the hints and found a new crush. But innocent, dorky little Tweek didn't know the rules. Or if he did, he didn't follow them. When you get rejected in front of everyone, you're supposed to get embarrassed, lay low for a while, then get over it. Not…keep trying. That was all wrong.

Craig shook his head, trying to clear it of his thoughts about Tweek. He turned back to the television and got back into the show straight away.

He woke up around one in the morning on the couch. He had slept through the entire day, apparently. He groggily got himself up off the couch and started for the stairs, wanting to get to his own bed.

At the top of the stairs, a frightening feeling of foreboding chilled Craig to the core, and he actually stood still for a moment, shivering. It was unexpected, inexplicable, and only momentary, and it succeeded in scaring the shit out of him. He took a step towards his door once the shock of fright was gone and again felt weirdly terrified, but he decided to go in anyway. It was _his _room. He knew there was nothing scary in it.

Craig's hand took the doorknob and twisted it unnecessarily slowly, but he then threw the door open and boldly stepped into his room.

Nothing.

Wait—

"Hi, Craig."

Craig turned, shocked, all the way to his left. There in front of him was Tweak Tweek, cross-legged, sitting on Craig's bed with an unreadable expression.

His image was faded- his light skin tone was even paler than it had been; his stunning blonde hair was now a sort of Easter yellow. His azure tee-shirt and faded blue jeans seemed awkwardly lighter than they ought to be, as though Craig was viewing them through a sheet of Saran wrap. He also noticed that Tweek's outline seemed to be quivering erratically although the boy was standing still.

Too shocked to answer, Craig simply stared at him lamely. Tweek shook his head and slid off the bed, his face still void of any emotion. "Do you still hate me? Is that why you won't answer? I said, 'hi, Craig."

Craig knew then that he was going to throw up, and he ran out of his room into the bathroom next to it. He proceeded to hurl his guts out. When he was finished, he stood up and, after flushing the toilet, grabbed his toothbrush and began scrubbing the bile out of his mouth.

"I bet you were all excited that I couldn't follow you anymore."

Craig looked up after spitting out the excess toothpaste and stared at Tweek, who was leaning against the doorway. "But I'm here now," he continued when Craig again did not speak. "And now you can't get rid of me."

There was a long silence before Craig finally asked what he'd been dying to ask: "You're a hallucination, right?"

Tweek shook his head, never taking his eyes off Craig, never changing his expression. "No. I'm back."

"What does that mean?" Craig was pretty sure this was a dream, but he played along anyway.

"It means that even hell couldn't keep me away," Tweek said softly.

"So you're a ghost?"

"I guess." Tweek's tone stayed alarmingly neutral, which was extremely creepy.

Gulping a little, Craig countered, "But you still look like you. Before you, uh…" His voice trailed off, but Tweek got the message.

"Do I?" he asked dully. His questions sounded almost like statements what with their lack of tone.

But the truth was, he didn't. The shaky outline of his discoloured appearance wouldn't have made any sense on a living human. Craig fervently wished that he would wake up already. "I guess not," he admitted, looking straight into the mirror in front of him. After a few moments with no response, he spat out, "Why aren't you twitching." A demand.

"I can't." Tweek never moved from his position, leaning into the right of the doorframe. "I'm dead."

"No, you're not!" Craig yelled suddenly, spinning around to glare at the apparition. "If you're here, then you're alive, or I'm dreaming! I'm fucking dreaming…" Out of breath from the volume of his outburst, Craig resigned to staring angrily into the faded blue eyes of the boy who may be a dream or who may be Tweek, breathing heavily.

Surprisingly, Tweek's gaze did not falter as it once would have. "You're disappointed, aren't you?" he asked, tone still unchanging.

Recovering slightly, Craig growled, "About _what_?"

"You thought I was gone for good." Tweek did look away at this, glancing into the hallway behind him, making sure Craig hadn't woken anyone up. "But now I'm here. And you're scared, and you're ashamed that you're scared. And you really wish I would leave, or that you would wake up. But in your heart of hearts, you know that neither of those things are going to happen, and you're disappointed in yourself for not being in charge of everything like you usually are." He finished with his eyes locked back on Craig's.

Craig faltered. "I…I don't believe in ghosts. You're a dream."

"I'm not."

"Well, why the hell would you be back! To _haunt_ me? Is this because I wasn't _gay for you_, Tweek? Is that why you've decided to screw with my dreaming? Son of a bitch, Tweek," he chuckled bitterly, "I thought you _loved_ me."

Tweek's outline began to waver a little bit more noticeably. "I do," he said, eyes traveling to the floor.

"Not '_did_?'" Craig challenged.

Shrugging, Tweek looked back up. "I can't help it," he said.

Despite himself, Craig froze.

"And it isn't a dream," Tweek added.

"Go to hell," Craig whispered lowly.

"I did, thanks to you," Tweek answered. "You should stop using that insult."

Sparked again with random rage, Craig surged forward, fist at the ready, and swung a right hook into Tweek's face.

But the problem was, it actually went _into Tweek's face_. And Craig yelled in surprise at the cold that enveloped his hand and his arm. Freezing, sweeping, agonizing cold. Temperature: Absolute Zero.

The corner of Tweek's mouth twitched slightly as Craig stumbled into the hallway, cursing in fear and anger. Turning, he said—still in his creepy monotone—"Now are you convinced?" A pause. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Craig snarled, rubbing at his hand and forearm. They were still uncomfortably cool in contrast to the rest of his body.

"That you can't punch me," Tweek clarified. "If I could fix it, I would."

"Oh, really?" hissed Craig. "Why?"

"Because I'd do anything for you."

"_Then go away!_"

"I can't."

Craig glared at him for a minute before wrenching open his door and stomping inside, allowing Tweek to follow before slamming it shut. He turned and walked over to his bed, sitting on it, and waiting for Tweek to accompany him. "Explain," he commanded once Tweek had sat cross-legged again, facing him. "How are you here?"

"I was put here."

"By?" Craig asked, still grumpy, and still unnerved at the entire situation. He still sort of thought he was dreaming.

"The Devil." Tweek's lack of tone had never seemed more sinister.

Coughing to cover his unpleasant surprise, Craig inquired, "Why?"

Tweek shrugged. "I have a task to complete. And I can't leave until it's done."

"What is it?" Craig asked, anger departing. He was slightly embarrassed by his sudden interest, but the ghost didn't seem to notice.

"I can't tell you."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because I _can't_."

"Um…Can you tell me what it's about?"

"Not really. But it's supposed to make me happy." Tweek looked down. "Satan likes me, I guess. Or pities me."

"Is that common?" Craig asked, trying to imagine the Devil caring about somebody.

"No." Tweek's eyes were on his feet, the toes of which he was wiggling. "He feels bad for me because I'm like this all the time."

Frowning, Craig said, "I thought the lack of facial expression or…tone of voice was because you were dead. Not everyone in hell is like that, then?"

"No."

This answer depressed Craig despite himself, and he suddenly realized again that he was speaking to a phantom. Creeped out, he said, "I need to go to bed."

"Okay." Tweek didn't move, and Craig felt awkward. "I have to stay here," Tweek continued, feeling Craig's annoyed eyes on him.

"That's convenient," Craig snorted, remembering again that Tweek was madly in love with him even after death. "Do you 'have to stay here' when I'm changing, too? Showering? Working out?"

Tweek's shoulders hunched and he watched Craig stand up. "No," he said again, but in a tiny voice. "But at night, I do."

"Get the fuck out of my room. I don't need to be watched by a stalker while I'm sleeping, dead or alive," Craig sneered. "I bet you're still a little pervert fanboy, even as a ghost. I bet it'd give you a real _thrill_, having an excuse to watch me sleep all night, every night. But I'm _not_ interested, and I never was!" Craig ended by flipping Tweek off. "Go somewhere else!"

Still slumped, Tweek said quietly, "I'll leave. I'll have to be back early, so your parents and sister don't see me, but I'll leave. On one condition." He waited for Craig's nod, then said, "Read my letter."

Craig chuckled meanly. "Sure, Tweek. I'll read your gay little letter. But you need to get out. _Now_." Tweek obliged, sliding off Craig's bed and trudging obediently out through the door—literally.

He hadn't planned on actually doing it, but something inside of him forced Craig to his dresser. He slid open the bottom drawer and extracted the faded pages of loose-leaf, moving to sit on his bed with it. It all felt wrong, but at the same time, Craig couldn't stop. He began to read:

_Dear Craig,_

_Each day for four years now, I have watched you, hoping and praying that one day you would love me the way I love you. You probably think I don't know you don't care about me, but believe me, you've made it plenty obvious. What you don't understand is why that doesn't change anything._

_Even though __you__ hate me, the rest of the guys in our group don't, so we __have__ hung out. And we used to be friends, so I know your personality. And that's how I know you don't understand what love is. It isn't just lust or want. It's __connection__ and it's __need__. Don't pretend you've forgotten how we used to be best friends. We were always together back in middle school, and I realized then we were soulmates. Maybe you did too, but I doubt it, since most people aren't so resistant to fate._

_I love you. I've always loved you. Your eyes are dark chocolate, simultaneously bitter and sweet, and I long to stare into them for hours on end. Your skin is soft, smooth and unmarred, and I want desperately to run my hand down your face, to press my lips to your thin pout. To ruffle your raven-coloured hair is my dark desire. If only you would allow yourself to hold me close, to let me whisper my deepest fears to you—and you would comfort me as you do in my dreams. You have no idea how hard it is for me to write this, knowing that you hate me so much. Since I know that nothing I want from you is possible, I spend my days wishing that one day you'll turn a new leaf and decide to __tolerate__ me, if only out of pity._

_But you only torture me now. You have been doing so since high school began. I can't take another year of your silence. I don't care what the other guys do or say to me, but I can't bear your hatred any longer._

_So I leave this world defeated and heartbroken—but still completely in love with you. I hope only that you might find it in your heart to attend my funeral…and also that my death will __prove__ to you that this wasn't just a stupid crush. This was love. Such is love's transgression._

_ With love, of course,_

_ Tweek Tweak (Please don't forget me.)_

**AN: So, er, yeah. This story isn't going to be a bucket of giggles :| If you're looking for fluff, you won't find it here. (Although this may be a nice change of pace for you if you were.) I hope you enjoyed this, and I hope you'll stick with me. Not sure when I'm updating, but hopefully it will be soon.**

**-Be kind and review? C'mon, it's the first chapter!- I think you'll like the plot quite a bit, so keep reading?- Aaargh!- Cpt. Essex Cole**


	2. I Can't Destroy What Isn't There

**AN: Okay so chapter three is NOT done, but I just feel bad for taking so facking long to release this =( So it will probably be another LONG time for the next update, but it's just cause I'm trying to make this really good, promise! (con'td, again:S)**

Craig awoke the next morning hunched in the fetal position on his bed. He reluctantly slid out from under the covers and got some clothes together before leaving the room to shower.

It wasn't until he was under the blast of hot water that he remembered the events of the preceding night and, despite himself, he looked around quickly for the image of the ghostly boy (despite the fact that the shower curtain blocked his view anyway). He finished his shower quickly and hurried to get dressed, just in case the specter was lurking after all.

But he saw no one. No one in the bathroom, no one in his room, no one in the kitchen…

No one but himself in the entire house.

Craig laughed to himself when he got to the kitchen again after his thorough sweep of the house. His parents were at work, his sister had gotten on her bus, and Tweek had been a dream. Fixing himself breakfast, he grinned at the thought of last night's stupidity on his part—of course he had been seeing things. He'd spent his whole day watching Red Racer, after all—must have fucked with his head. It all made sense.

Realizing he was probably going to be late if he didn't leave soon, Craig grabbed his backpack and opened the back door onto the porch. He shut the door and started for the stairs to get to his driveway, but froze when he noticed a certain someone leaning against the exterior wall of his house next to the door. "Bye," Tweek said. When Craig simply blinked stupidly, he added, "Have a good day at school."

Face rapidly paling, Craig backed up a few steps, then turned and ran down the stairs and to his car. There was nothing to say.

"Craig!"

Craig turned to see Bridon, a smiley idiot of a junior, running towards him. "Hey," he said breathlessly when he caught up the irritated Craig. "I've been calling you for like five minutes. Listen, man, I'm throwing a party tomorrow and—"

"No."

Bridon paused, looking up at Craig, who had a good six inches on him, for a minute. "No, you see, my parents are going out of town to see _Rent_ on Broadway," he elaborated, walking quickly to keep up with Craig's long strides. "They won't be back until Monday."

"Good," Craig snorted, thinking of Bridon's father's abusive tendencies.

Encouraged—and not getting the reason Craig had said this—Bridon nodded excitedly about a million times. "Yeah! So, uh, I was hoping you would come."

"No," Craig repeated, upping his pace a little to try to shake the kid off.

"Aw, come on!" Bridon whined, having to jog to keep up now. "All the other guys from the team are coming!"

Rolling his eyes at the little bastard's persistence, Craig said, "I don't believe you."

Bridon frowned. "Well, uh yeah, I might be exaggerating. But Butters is coming, and, uh—"

"Butters is the kicker," Craig said, smiling despite himself. The "party" was definitely going to be lame, all right. It wasn't that Bridon was unpopular; it was simply that he threw lame parties. As a personal rule, in order for Craig to attend a party, he had to know that it would involve the Three As: Alcohol, Acid, and hot Ass. And Bridon's parties never included any of the three.

"So? He's still on the team! Look, Craig—"

But Craig shook his head, stopping in front of his first period class. "Sorry, dude," he said, smiling again. "Just give up with these things. Just accept that Token is the party king, okay?" He ruffled Bridon's hair obnoxiously before turning into US History 2, laughing.

"What's so funny?" asked Clyde as Craig sat down next to him. (Lucky for them, Mrs. Voigt always set seating arrangements alphabetically by first name, so they got to sit beside each other.)

"Bridon," Craig explained. "He was trying to get me to go—"

"To the party," Clyde finished, also snickering at Bridon's expense. "He needs to stop trying."

"Yeah," Cartman butted in from Clyde's left—he had reasoned with the teacher that no one ever called him "Eric"—as he sat down. "He tried to sucker me into going and I was all 'Hell no.'"

Clyde and Craig made eye contact and simultaneously rolled their eyes as the bell rang.

Calculus, Health, and AP Lit were all shitty classes, and Craig was relieved when seventh period finally came around. Best of all, Mr. Dame announced that it was dodgeball day and split the class in half. "Don't hit each other in the face" was the only rule besides the basics, which made the class extremely easy to get through.

First, Craig made sure to aim at the hot chicks—they always giggled and squeaked and tried to jump away, which made their hair flounce and their boobs bounce, just the way Craig liked to see. But next, it was the classic egotistical guys' brawl that made the goth kids roll their eyes and the nerds shriek and hide in the back of the gym.

Craig was the star runningback on the football team and had been the pitcher for varsity baseball since sophomore year. He had a pretty damn good arm—which made him prime real estate for the makings of a dodgeball team. And he got into the game as much as any other guy.

Consequently, by the time they were permitted to go to the locker rooms and change, about half the guys on the other team had bruises of some sort. And Craig was smiling like an idiot.

When the bell rang, Jason caught up to him outside the locker room. "Hey, did you hear?" he asked in lieu of a proper greeting.

"Hear about what?" Craig asked as they began walking toward the doors to the parking lot. Sensing the slight anxiety in Jason's pause to answer, he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"You know how my dad's on the school board?" Jason asked. He waited for Craig to nod before continuing, "I heard him telling my mom that they want to do something for Tweek. Like, a memorial assembly or something." He let that set in.

Craig's stomach wrenched and he stopped short, just in front of the doors. "Uh, is something wrong?" Jason asked nervously, watching Craig's expression.

"I don't think we can work on the project today after all," Craig said finally.

"Craig—"

"No. I just, uh, remembered something I gotta do." Craig pushed open the doors and ran out to his car, not waiting for Jason to respond.

He wasn't quite sure why the thought of a memorial service unnerved him so badly, but it did. Craig thought it over as he began the drive home, rolling down the window and turning up his music the way he always did. Perhaps it was because the lovesick ghost of the boy in question had decided to start haunting him.

Finally reaching his house, Craig got out of his car and slammed the door, eyeing the building before him skeptically. Was afraid to go inside? Yeah, maybe. Who wouldn't be?

After a minute, Craig told himself to grow some cojones and just go the fuck inside. It was his house, after all. It wasn't like Tweek had any real right to be there.

And he only barely believed what was happening to him, anyway. He'd never believed in ghosts. That was the type of thing that Stan's old group was into, not _him_. Not blunt-and-sensible Craig. It wasn't fair.

He'd never asked for Tweek to go gay for him.

He'd never asked for Tweek to kill himself, either.

And he'd certainly never asked for Tweek to _come back_.

Albeit tentatively, Craig opened the door to his house and took the first step inside. A first look around the kitchen told him Tweek wasn't there, leading him to believe that he would find him waiting in his bedroom. Great.

But Craig was suddenly determined to find some answers now. He resolutely walked through his house, climbed up his stairs, and swung open the door to his room.

Sure enough, there was Tweek on his bed again, cross-legged as always. "Hi," he said, watching his toes wiggle as he had the night before. "How was your day?"

"Fine, how was yours," Craig replied sarcastically.

It went over Tweek's head. "Shitty," he said truthfully.

Craig shook his head and sat across from Tweek. He could tell this position was going to become a custom between them. "Well, I don't want to talk about that. I want to talk about you."

"Did you read my letter?"

Craig blinked at the random question. "Yes," he said. "Now, I want to know—"

"Did you like it?"

Now Craig frowned impatiently. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Don't change the subject. I need to know some basic things about you." He paused a moment, waiting for Tweek to look up, but it didn't happen, so he continued on. "First of all. Why are you here?"

"I told you that already." Tweek stopped wiggling his toes, instead holding a hand up to about his chest and wiggling the fingers. "I have a task to complete."

"Why did you word it like that?" Craig asked, hoping he was on to something.

But Tweek only shrugged. "I didn't know how else to word it."

_Okay_, Craig thought. _That makes sense enough._ "Would 'mission' work?" he asked curiously.

"Sure, I guess."

"All right. Next question. What is this 'task?'"

"I can't tell you," Tweek said. "You've asked this stuff already."

Craig was about to reply, but found himself temporarily mesmerized by Tweek's shifting outline—it was as though the boy was a cartoon, outlined badly in pen. In life, all the coffee the poor boy had been forced to drink had given him the reputation of a cocaine addict with all of his twitching and shaking. But as a ghost, twitching was impossible, Craig figured. Instead, the faded blonde's outlines simply quivered at a varied pace. Craig wondered what exactly determined how fast it went.

Shaking himself to refocus, Craig said distractedly, "Uh, yeah, but uh, you… You never gave me direct answers. And if you're going to be haunting me, I think I deserve to know exactly what's going on with you. Doesn't that make sense?"

Tweek looked up slowly, his lifeless eyes peering into Craig's brown ones. "Is that what you think?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, it's not just curiosity, you know—"

"No," Tweek stopped him. "It's…You think I'm haunting you?"

Craig sat in confusion. "Well, what would _you _call it?"

"I don't know." Tweek seemed to sort of shrink into himself as crossed his arms tightly across his stomach. "But that sounds…horrible."

This almost made Craig feel guilty. "Er—you're a ghost," he reasoned. "And you've told me you refuse to leave me alone. Isn't that haunting?"

"I thought haunting was supposed to be sinister."

"This is sinister!" Craig yelled. "You appear in the middle of the night to tell me—with no tone in your voice and no expression on your fucking face—that Satan has given you some sort of secret mission and, _coincidentally_, you aren't allowed to leave _me_! Don't I have a right to be freaked out!"

Silence hung in the air and Craig realized what he had said. It must have come straight from his subconscious because it hadn't even occurred to Craig before that Tweek's mysterious "task" may have something to do with him.

"You really want me out of here, don't you," Tweek said simply.

Craig looked away. "You're _dead_."

"How is it," Tweek seemed to be musing, in his unaffected voice, "that I kill myself over you—to prove that I loved you, to prove that I lived for you—and yet, you still waste no pity on me?"

With a big gulp, Craig said, "I never said I wasn't sorry."

"You never said you were, either." Tweek closed his eyes in what may have been shame, though it was impossible to tell. "You have no idea what it's like to be dead. You have no idea what it's like to be _in hell_. I had spoken to Kenny. He told me what it was like. But I decided that life without you was worse than death. You spent each year of high school picking on me, ridiculing me, trying to make everyone else hate me the way you did—but that wasn't enough. Now that I'm here, you _still_ hate me. I had hoped it would be different, but it's not. But now, I _can't_ give up. I _can't_ make myself disappear. I have to deal with your revulsion again. And…" Tweek's eyes opened again, although they were not pointed at Craig. "It isn't fair."

Craig was speechless. Not only did the lack of tone make the dialogue creepy, it made Craig feel like complete shit. "I don't…I don't hate you," he said quietly.

"Yes, you do. You did while I was alive and you do now."

"I don't!" Craig insisted. "Maybe I did. Back then. But now, I don't—I just—I don't understand, is all. I mean, why can't you tell me what you're doing here! Why did Satan pity you, send you back! Why did you kill yourself in the first place, what made you like me! And what finally made you snap! And why can't you say something in a FUCKING TONE FOR ONCE!" Craig's voice rose into a screech and he sat up straight with his last words, staring at Tweek, trying to get him to change instantly with the urgency of his gaze.

"I try to," Tweek whispered, putting Craig in his place again. "And you said you read my letter, so you ought to know that I love you because I _have_ to. It's fate. I _finally_ killed myself the fifth day of senior year just because I couldn't stand it anymore. And I'm sorry if you're angry with me for being here, but there really isn't anything I can do about it."

Tweek's unintended calm helped to ease Craig's sudden temper back to a point of civility. After a moment's quiet, he breathed, "Sorry. I just don't understand…Well. Anything."

Looking down again, Tweek said, "I guess you don't have to, really."

Craig sat back impatiently. "But I…" Shit. What was it he wanted to say? "I… Tweek, I'm sorry. About all the stupid shit I did to you. It wasn't right and I'm the biggest asshole ever. I didn't realize what it was doing to you."

"That's what I told myself," Tweek said, which made Craig fidget uncomfortably.

"Told yourself what? That I'm the biggest asshole ever or that it didn't occur to me what effect I had on you?"

There was a very faint sound of air moving, and Craig realized that this was the equivalent of a ghostly snort. "Definitely the second one."

Still uncomfortable, Craig cleared his throat. "Well…I hope you can accept my apology. And since you can't leave here…Let's be, uhm. Friends?"

Tweek's eyes slowly rolled upwards to stare blankly into Craig's, and the latter wished fervently that there was _some_ way to get a facial reaction—of any kind!—out of the former. "Okay," he said finally. And Craig prayed that some good would come out of this.

**AN: So. How bad do you feel for Tweek? :D reviews—got any questions? Parts you didn't understand? Things you'd enjoy seeing? (there prolly won't be any other couples except ONE surprise one!) **_**Predictions**_**? I'd love to hear 'em; I swear these are a few of my favourite things3 or hey, constructive crit? Or is there something that I always do in my writing that drives you crazy and you wish I'd knock it off? (this one person's story is great, but she refuses to use question marks in dialogue—drives me NUTSO! So things like that. xD) I'd love to hear from you!**

**-See the lot of ye in a while!-ARRRGH!-Cpt. Essex Cole**


	3. Sick Of All The Insinceres

_**IMPORTANT**_**!: Okay so this is kind of crucial to the story (I think). Apparently I didn't make this clear enough in the first two chapters, so I'll just say it outright now. During Tweek's life [in high school], Craig was a BULLY! Because Tweek liked him, Craig took to shoving him around and letting his friends beat him up as well. Don't think for a second that Craig just sat around, not knowing what to do, because he was very violent. A couple of people mentioned Tweek didn't have a right to blame Craig for his suicide and arguably, he doesn't, but you could also argue that he does, because Craig is the cause of Tweek's daily physical AND emotional pain, plus, by humiliating him, Craig got pretty much the entire school to avoid Tweek as well. I think maybe some of you could try rereading Tweek's letter more carefully—"But you only torture me now" wasn't a metaphor.**

**Okay! Read on!**

"Good. So, uh, since we're friends. How about you tell me all you know, without me having to ask the questions?"

Tweek kept staring at Craig for a while with his creepy lifeless eyes before eventually responding. "When I died, I went to hell. It's horrible. All that 'lake of fire' stuff is true…I guess I'm not supposed to say much about it, though." He glanced at a spot over Craig's shoulder for a long moment, causing Craig to turn and look. Before he could ask what the hell they were staring at, however, Tweek went on. "Instead of screaming in pain or whatever, though, I just kind of…was there. I took it. I didn't pay attention to anything. I just sat there twitching, apparently."

"They serve coffee in hell?" Craig asked in genuine confusion.

Tweek looked back at Craig. "No."

"Oh," Craig said self-consciously under Tweek's dull gaze. "Uh, sorry."

"Satan kept coming up to me…Trying to talk to me. But I never said anything. Until two days ago, when he sat down next to me and demanded that I tell him why I had killed myself." Tweek paused a minute, surveying Craig, then went on. "I told him the whole story. He knows all about you."

There was another pause, during which Craig paled and went sort of limp and wide-eyed. "Is that, uh—"

"No, it's fine. He likes you."

Whether this was good or bad for Craig was left unsaid.

"Anyway, he just started talking a lot about Saddam Hussein…I didn't really know why; I wasn't listening to most of it. But then he just said he understood me, and stuff. And then…we made a sort of deal."

If it was possible for Craig to get any paler, he did it. "You made a deal with the Devil!" he yelled.

"Yes," Tweek said, blinking. "Not a bad one, though. You can't sell your soul if you're already in hell."

Craig found this fairly logical, and nodded slowly, though he was still creeped out. "And the 'deal' and the 'task' are the same thing?"

"Yes," Tweek repeated. "So he sent me down here. And I'm not supposed to leave, because if someone sees me, that could ruin everything."

As if on cue, Craig heard the noises of someone coming up the stairs, stopping at his door. He held his breath as his sister knocked, calling, "CRAIG! Get your ass downstairs, we're gonna get ice cream."

Craig looked away from the door at Tweek, whose face had also been turned towards the door, listening. His eyes were jerked back to the door in horror, however, when the little bitch came barging in without any warning. "Ruby!" he yelled, looking in terror at Tweek—

Who wasn't there?

"What?" his little sister sneered. "Did I catch you jerking off?"

Craig promptly flipped her off, and she happily returned the gesture. "If you're not down in five minutes, we're leaving without you," she informed him nastily.

"Go ahead," Craig said in annoyance, flipping off her retreating figure.

When the door had closed again, Craig was extremely surprised to find Tweek sitting before him again. "How the hell did you do that!" he yelled, half irritated, half terrified.

"I don't have to be tangible," Tweek said, and his monotone in this context sounded very patronizing indeed. "I went through the mattress."

"Uh…oh," Craig said stupidly. _Duh_, he thought.

"Don't worry about it," Tweek said, and Craig felt slightly more embarrassed that Tweek had noticed his embarrassment.

"What would you do if someone saw you?" he asked suddenly, satisfied that he had found a question that could stem a new conversation.

Tweek was silent for a long time, and Craig was about to repeat his question when it was answered: "I guess whoever it was would think they were insane. So nothing."

Great. Another conversation gone, well… dead. "Stop doing that," Craig frowned.

"Doing what?"

"Killing conversations! I'm trying to talk to you, but you turn everything I say into a dead end." Craig hunched over. "We're _friends_ now, remember? Talk to me like a friend," he grumbled.

Again, Tweek went quiet. "Sorry," he said a minute later. "It's just…I don't really remember. What it was like talking to you, I mean."

Craig gave an encouraging grin. "We used to be best friends, remember? If we could talk then, we can talk now."

"You're only being nice to me because you feel guilty, though."

"Am not." Craig stuck out his tongue childishly. "We're friends. And—"

"You're not nice to your friends."

Shutting his eyes in surrender a moment, Craig said, "I'm only a dick when they're being annoying. I can't help it if that's how they are most of the time."

Tweek watched him closely. "I must have annoyed you a lot."

"Yep. But you're not annoying me now, so maybe you should learn to take what you can get." Craig wiggled his eyebrows. "Talk while I'm still feeling nice."

It was a long time before Tweek had a noticeable reaction. When he did, it took the form of him stretching out his ghostly arms a bit before folding them in his lap and nodding. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

But Craig's eyes were suddenly glued to Tweek's arms. "Wait—you still have…" he coughed and almost choked on his own surprise and horror. His stomach was again filled with the rapid need to throw up, and it was all he could do just to keep still.

"What?" Tweek asked. He looked down at his arms, then back at Craig. "What's wrong?"

"Scars," Craig managed to choke out.

Now Tweek blinked and looked downwards, turning his forearms outwards, displaying again the multiple slits on the pale surfaces. "Of course I still have them," he said. "Where would they have gone?"

He was not immediately given a response; Craig was busy focusing in terror on the wounds. "But—those are from…?"

"When I killed myself. Yes." Tweek peered at Craig, tone and expression betraying no emotion but, somehow, emitting curiosity. "Why are you so surprised? What made you think I wouldn't have the scars anymore?"

Craig sat back and bit down on his quivering lip. "I just wasn't expecting…" he stammered guiltily, unable to finish yet another sentence.

"It's okay. I'm sorry." Tweek looked down again, rubbing his right thumb absentmindedly over the scars on his left wrist. "I probably should have hid them. I didn't realize they'd be so traumatic for you."

"…If you were able to talk like a normal person—would that have sounded bitter?" Craig asked nervously. He didn't want to piss off a ghost, and he suddenly wondered if Tweek's cause of death was a touchy subject.

But apparently, it wasn't. "No, not at all."

"And that wouldn't have been sarcastic?"

"_No_," Tweek said. "You already know I don't blame you for anything. And the fact of the matter is, no one wants to see a bunch of brutal scars on someone. Especially a ghost, I guess." He turned his forearms inwards again, hiding any marks that there were.

"Why don't you blame me?" Craig asked quietly, still somewhat unnerved.

Tweek's shoulders seemed to slump slightly, and Craig guessed that he had sighed. "Haven't we been over this?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Tell me anyway."

Tweek looked up to stare Craig straight in the eyes. "Because I love you." He shrugged. "You must have heard that enough from me by now. You never wanted to hear it before."

"I didn't realize that keeping it in was slowly destroying you before." The corners of Craig's lips turned upwards slightly. "If we're gonna be friends, we've got to be able to say what's on our minds. So. What's on your mind—" he snapped his fingers—"right now?"

"How beautiful you look when you smile like that."

This plain truth was so blatant that Craig shifted uncomfortably. "Uh…What else?" he asked, hoping that he wasn't actually blushing furiously the way he thought he was.

"Nothing else." Tweek sat back. "Except that I like when you blush, too." Dammit. "How about you?" he asked.

"Er…I was thinking about how embarrassing it is that I always blush whenever someone mentions anything about my appearance." Craig rolled his eyes at himself. "I mean, I don't even really care. But I always blush anyways."

"That's funny."

"Wow, Tweek, way to say it like you mean it," Craig joked, but he thought this over. "Yeah," he mused eventually. "I guess it would be, for someone else." He let silence hang for a moment before asking, "Okay, what are you thinking _now_?"

"That I like talking to you. And that you act a lot differently at school than you do at home."

With a shrug, Craig said, "I don't, really. I just talk to _you_ different, I guess."

Cocking his head slightly, Tweek questioned, "Why?"

Since he really didn't know the answer to this question, it took Craig another long minute's thought before he was able to reply. "…Because I don't have to put a show on for you, I guess." Tweek made a noise like he didn't understand, so Craig continued on. "At school, the only thing that really concerns me is getting through it alive. Having friends keeps me happy, so I do what I can to keep _my_ friends. Which means messing around, acting like a douchebag, and being a three-sport athlete. But you gave up on that a long time ago…in like, eighth grade you just let yourself be the weird one. And we didn't mind." He paused to smile in remembrance. "But now…you're not even a part of this world anymore. You were totally isolated for three years—except for getting harassed and picked on, anyway—and you're obviously completely unimpressed with my bullshit by now. So there's no point in being an asshole around you; there's no one to watch."

With more blinking—Craig was starting to get used to it—Tweek said simply, "It's cool that you can admit that now."

"I wasn't hiding it," Craig laughed, shrugging. "It's the same thing everyone else is doing. Just…no one ever called me out."

"I wasn't doing that."

"…_Well_," Craig emphasized, gesturing awkwardly in the faded blonde's direction. The air suddenly felt tense.

Tweek nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said quietly, and Craig got the impression that his companion had suddenly realized what he'd said.

"Sorry," Craig mumbled, swallowing. "But it is really a compliment…You're the only one who gets to see how I really am." He offered a silly grin.

"That's a shame. I bet most people would like you anyway."

Craig shifted. "But I don't want to risk it. It's not even important, right?"

"Maybe not." Tweek looked around. "Not that it's my place to say."

"I kind of wish you would be mad at me," Craig said suddenly, furrowing his brows and leaning onto his knees. "I ruined your life."

"No, you didn't. Stop saying that."

"We were so mean to you!" the brunette exclaimed. "Every day you got made fun of. Just because you liked me. That's not fair."

Tweek looked back to Craig, his faded eyes still apparently unconcerned with everything Craig was saying. "I'm over it."

"Don't be." Craig thought a minute. "Wait. No! You're lying. You're not over it, because if you were, you would look and sound like you were actually feeling something. You're a big fat liar!"

"I'm really not," Tweek said, scratching his nose. "I do forgive you. For everything. I never really blamed you for any of it, as I've probably already said. It's not your fault I killed myself. Just keep in mind that I only recently got out of _hell_."

Craig froze, leaning back again. "Oh, yeah…" he said sheepishly.

Tweek just rolled his eyes.

The next few days went by slowly. He spent the night at Token's on Saturday with Clyde and Kenny, but all they did was the standard video-games-and-pizza routine that happened at pretty much all sleepovers. He had actually spent much of the time thinking of Tweek, wondering what the ghost was doing for his "task" while Craig was away.

The two spoke every day—Craig found himself becoming more and more interested in what Tweek had to say. It was a shame, he often mused, that Tweek's affections had blinded him throughout high school, for they probably would have had a fucking blast together.

On Wednesday two weeks later, in fourth period AP Lit, Ms. Nelson was rambling on about how Shakespeare's characters had depth. Craig wasn't really listening—it was embarrassing enough being in the class, not to mention he was passing—but soon he was given a spark of inspiration.

Wendy Testaburger, a kissass by nature, raised her hand and said sweetly, "I agree. We can see it in Juliet, especially—her obedient personality obviously overruled any of her other traits when the play began, but once she has fallen in love with Romeo, she begins to go against her father and even the Nurse. Juliet is _obviously_ a character with real _substance_."

As Ms. Nelson praised Wendy's contribution, Craig was mimicking the way she had said "substance" in his thoughts. But this caused his mind to wander off into space over the word, as he wasn't interested in the topic at hand.

Substance.

Tweek didn't have any substance, he thought. Well, as a human with a certain character, of course he did. But physically. There was that time he had simply floated through the bed…

But how was it that he sat there, otherwise, speaking to Craig? It had become a tradition—a reflex, almost—between them: Craig would come home, and, when he felt like it, he would go up to Tweek. (Usually, this was sooner than later, but it differed due to football practices and lack of TiVo.) They would always sit cross-legged on his bed, facing each other. The two never sat any different way.

How did Tweek sit, though? Craig wondered. When the ghost had first appeared, Craig had tried to sock him in the jaw. But his hand went right through…And yet, Tweek was able to sit comfortably. He never fell through, and he wasn't floating, as Craig had always imagined a specter would.

These thoughts troubled Craig all day; even Clyde and Token noticed something was up. He dismissed it as nothing to them, though—obviously they wouldn't understand, not to mention the fact that Craig himself did not quite get why the idea intrigued him so much.

When Craig got home from school, he raced up to his room to see Tweek. "I've been thinking," he said breathlessly as he entered the room.

"About what?" Tweek asked.

"Well," said Craig, taking his usual position across from Tweek, "about you. Of course. But I wanted to know…Why is it that sometimes you're substantial, and sometimes you're not?" He gestured. "You're sitting on my bed right now. How can you do that, but then walk through walls? Or the time I tried to punch you…" Craig chuckled. "_That_ certainly didn't work. So what differentiates the times you're substantial from the times you're _in_substantial?"

"Me," said the ghost. His tone sounded bored, but Craig told himself it was the _lack_ of tone that made it sound that way. "I decide when I want to be solid. But no matter what, I can't touch or be touched by people."

"Oh," Craig said. He decided that this made sense. "…So no matter what, if I tried to touch you, my hand would _always_ go right through you?"

"Yes."

"And if _you_ tried to touch _me_—same thing?"

"Yes."

"Hmm." Craig thought a minute, then inquired, "How come it was so _cold_?"

Tweek blinked a minute, probably trying to figure out what Craig was talking about. "…You mean when you tried to hit me? Because I'm dead, probably." He watched Craig shudder and added, "Not in a corpse kind of way. But…I'm not supposed to be here. Be…a ghost, I mean. After death, you're not _supposed_ to ever come back. You could say that I'm not even allowed to be here. But I returned from the worst place imaginable…to Earth. So your and will go through me because I'm not living, not on Earth. But it will feel cold because I'm on Earth anyway."

This was a lot for Tweek to say, and Craig sat back, surprised. "That was a really good explanation," he said thoughtfully.

Tweek shrugged. "I'd figured you would ask sooner or later."

"So," Craig started up again, armed with a new question, "your monotone. Is that because you're dead, too?"

"No, it's a result of extreme depression."

"Because you still missed me after you died."

"Enough to break the Devil's heart."

This made Craig pause guiltily, but he quickly moved on. "But you're here now," he said. "With me. And I'm talking to you, and you're talking to me. So why be depressed anymore?"

"I don't know," Tweek said. "That's just the way it is."

"No," Craig said, rejecting the idea that he was going to have to listen to Tweek's dull voice for the entirety of the boy's time on Earth. "I'm gonna fix it."

"You can't," Tweek told him.

"Yes, I can," Craig insisted playfully. "I'll just make you happier." He thought a minute. "Would it help if I told you that, if you were material, I would give you the biggest hug ever? So big, you'd get all the way warm again. And I'd say sorry a million times for ever hurting you, and I bet it would make you smile really big."

Tweek hesitated. "That wouldn't be like you at all," he said.

"Not how I am at school, no. We already talked about that. But it's what I wanna do. For serious." The brunette stretched out his arms as far as he could, width-wise, then hugged himself tightly. "If only, if only," he sang.

It looked for a moment as though Tweek was going to smile, but it passed. "No offense, but that's hard to believe," he said.

"Yeah, I bet it is. But surprise! It's true. If you wanna try, you can come here and I'll try to hug you, even if I'd get all cold."

"Enough to freeze your own blood, eventually," said Tweek.

"I don't care, if it makes you feel better."

And to Craig's surprise, with this simple statement, Tweek's face burst into a brilliant, beautiful smile.

**AN: Awww! :3 Gave me the warm fuzzies to write. This chapter took forever to be put up, I'm so sorry! It really is the editing process that takes so long—filtering what I can and cannot put in yet (sometimes I accidentally give stuff away!) is a huge part of it. Anyway, the next chapter is really coming along, so it probably won't take a whole whopping MONTH for me to post it! (eek! Sorry again!) Want a spoiler? …Craig has a date. :o**

**-Review please! And if you're anonymous, please don't ask a question unless you leave your SN or something! It KILLS me inside when I can't answer D: -I hope you're liking it so far! –ARRGH!- Cpt. Essex Cole**


	4. I Won't Let You Choke

**AN: meant to release this way sooner whoops. this is a light-hearted chap though, I hope you'll enjoy despite its shortness. And please review! let me know!**

Craig went to school the next day with a considerable spring in his step. For whatever reason—perhaps that Tweek could actually express emotion now—he had woken up in a great mood, ready to take on the day.

"What, d'you get laid last night?"

Cocking an eyebrow, Craig turned to Clyde, who had appeared beside him. "No…?" he answered, slightly confused. "Did you?"

"No. But when you're happy, you usually look bored, and otherwise you just look pissed because I'm pretty sure that's your only other mood. So I came to the conclusion that maybe you finally lost your virginity."

Craig rolled his eyes at this, and Clyde flushed. "Oh," he said, clearly embarrassed. "To who?"

"I don't know. But she had green eyes and brown hair that smelled like coconut."

"That sounds suspiciously like Clyde," mused Token, coming out of nowhere to walk on Craig's other side.

Craig scowled. "If I'm not mistaken, it was _you_ who lost your virginity to Clyde," he snapped, and Token choked on the soda he'd been drinking.

"_What_?" he screeched, glaring at Clyde.

Clyde looked up from the football he was holding. "He was kidding," he said to clarify, and the dark-skinned boy seemed to calm down.

"The fuck was that about?" Craig snickered as they turned into social studies class.

Shrugging, Clyde took his seat. "I have no idea."

With a grin, Craig elbowed his friend teasingly. "Really? You'd let me know if you two were fooling around, right?"

Clyde made a face. "Craig, we aren't fucking queers."

"Dude!"

"Sorry," Clyde winced, remembering Craig's distaste for homophobia after Tweek's death. "…Uh, yeah. I'd tell you."

xxxxxxxxx

"And so the penis—" _Snicker._ "—and the testicles—" _Snicker, snicker._ "—will take up a huge portion of the test—oh, for goodness' sake! Mr. Tucker! Mr. Donovan? Would you care to share with the class _exactly what is so funny_?"

"You said 'penis,'" Craig said unashamedly, meeting the eyes of their health teacher.

"And 'testicles,'" added Clyde. The whole class began to giggle around the room, and Mrs. Dutton glared around at no one in particular.

"Honestly!" she exclaimed. "Most of you are _seniors_! Would it kill you all to grow up a little bit?"

"No," said Craig. "But my sides might split if you say 'scrotum.'"

The bell rang, and Clyde and Craig bolted for the door, away from the detentions they probably would have received. "That was close!" laughed Clyde as they stopped by the water fountain to catch their breath. "I thought her eyes were going to turn into lasers or something and fry our asses."

"You mean _buttocks_, young man," Craig said, imitating their teacher's scratchy voice. As the two proceeded to nearly die laughing, a certain girl strutted by.

"What an _asshole_," Nellie said loudly to Bebe as they passed the boys. "I'm prettier than that whore Red any day."

"Of course you are, honey," Bebe said sweetly, pausing. "Uh, I'm going to take a drink. Meet you in sewing class?"

"Kay. Love you!" Nellie said, glaring once more at Craig before continuing down the hall.

After fluffing her hair up a little bit, Bebe glided over to where Craig and Clyde were talking. "Hey Craig," she said seductively, lowering the books she'd had pressed to her chest to give him a better view. "You seem happy today."

"Uh huh," Craig said, giving her boobs a once-over before looking into her eyes. "What do you want?"

She smiled. "What makes you think I…_want_ something?" she breathed.

"Girls with tits that huge always want something!" crowed Clyde.

Craig high-fived him, but Bebe didn't seem to find this funny. "Hm, Clyde. It sure is a mystery why we broke up, isn't it?" she snarled.

Rolling his eyes, Clyde decided to give the girl her time. "Fine. I'm out," he said, fake-reluctantly. "Craig, be in class on time or I'll call the cops. You've got your rape whistle, right?" He raised his eyebrows at the blonde and cackled as he walked away.

"What an immature excuse for a guy," Bebe said disdainfully. "I'm so happy _you're_ not like that."

"Huh?" Yes I am," Craig said, wrinkling his brow. "Clyde learned all his jokes from me."

"…Oh."

"So what _is_ this about?"

Sighing, Bebe twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "Today, you seem really confident. I like that."

"The bell's gonna ring."

"Fine," Bebe scowled. "I'll make this quick. Take me out tonight. Pick me up at seven." She flipped her hair and flounced away, disappearing right as the bell rang.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"You're going out with _who_?"

"Bebe. I guess." Craig's face turned thoughtful as he drew a picture of a cartoon walrus on his English homework.

Token raised an eyebrow. "You guess?"

"I don't think I had a choice, really."

"Does Clyde know?"

"Eh," Craig said, drawing in flippers. "He was there for most of the surprise attack, so I'm sure he knew it was coming."

Sitting back, Token bit his lip. "That's fine, then, I suppose. As long as it doesn't bother him. I don't want anything to get fucked up between you two."

"It's not. It won't be." Craig finished with the tusks and added, "This isn't even serious. I hate that girl."

"Then why did you say yes?"

"She ran away before I could say no, dude!"

Eyes narrowing, Token said, "Then don't show up!"

"I can't do that! That's fucking rude." Craig looked up at his friend. "What's your deal, man? I'm just gonna buy her dinner, tell her I hate her, and finish her fries when she storms out. Clyde won't give a fuck. He knows me."

With a sigh, Token wearily agreed. "Yeah, I guess."

Class started then, and Craig didn't have a chance to inquire further. He simply watched as Token sipped at the espresso he'd mysteriously managed to sneak in, and wondered if maybe his other best friend had a point.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Heard about your hot date tonight."

Craig turned away from his truck, which he had just thrown his bag into. "Jealous?" he joked.

Clyde laughed, shaking his head as he went around to the other side of the car, also tossing in his books and inviting himself to a ride home. "Dude," he said, as Craig got in and began to drive. "She is the worst date ever. I swear, she takes half an hour to 'decide what to order,' when she's actually secretly waiting for you to say you're gonna order something she likes too so that she can ask to share it—God forbid you say no, by the way—and then she'll take two bites and just drink diet Coke the entire rest of the night. And since she's not eating, she'll talk and talk and talk, basically shitting on all of her friends. And sometimes your friends. And sometimes you." He chuckled reminiscently while Craig flipped off the driver behind them. "Oh, and she might ask you questions, too, since it's the first date."

"And only date," Craig interrupted. "SUCK MY BALLS, BROFLOVSKI!" he fired out the window. "Fucking tailgater!"

"But she'll ask while you're chewing. The only one chewing, by the way, so you feel totally self-conscious. And then you try to answer the question so you can take another bite of your damn fettuccini alfredo but, surprise! She's got a million follow-up questions based on what you answer. Like she's trying to have a conversation, except she's too slutty and stupid so all of her questions are superficial and sometimes irrelevant."

_HONK!_ "Serves you right, dumbass! You want to tailgate? Welcome to the 15-miles-per-hour zone!" Craig yelled out the window at Kyle, middle finger in action the whole time. "He's not getting the picture, Clyde. What do you think? Brake check time?"

Clyde facepalmed. "_You're_ not getting the picture, man. You're making a mistake."

"Dude. I don't want to go out with her. It's a one-time thing. I'm just going to piss her off and get out of there, okay?" Craig slammed on the brakes and got honked at again, but he had his magic finger out already. "Does this upset you or something?"

With a sigh, Clyde shook his head. "But that's my point, man. It's not that easy! There were so many times I tried to make a quick getaway by insulting her, but she doesn't even understand any meanness—beyond her own brand, anyway. So the only way to really get under her skin is to either call her fat or a whore. And if you do that, she'll tell all her friends and then the entire community of girls in our school will hate you. You can't win!"

"…If this really does bother you, though, tell me. I'll just call her and tell her bros before hos."

"Nah. I'm just lookin' out for you, man."

Craig nodded, brake-checking Kyle once more before turning onto Clyde's street. "Thanks, dude."

**AN: You know those corny scenes in movies about high school underdogs where they're walking home in the rain and a car drives by them and they get splattered with mud? Well, that's exactly what happened to me, except metaphorical. And homework would be the mud and school would be the bitchy queen bee driver of said car. So yeah, sorry this wasn't out sooner! I thought I'd have it out in a week but it's been like, three. Yikes. I meant to include the date and, hand-in-hand with that, a lovely character development featuring Tweeky Tweek Tweek. But nope. I want to get this out but I'm too tired to write any further, so it's a just a cliffhanger type thing I suppose ;)**

**Whenever (whatever! we'll always be together)!-Cpt. Essex Cole**


	5. I'll Prove I'm All You Want

**AN: omk I am such a bitch how long has it been! do you guys even remember this story? quick read this chapter before you pull out your pitchfork**

"You look kinda nervous."

Craig paused upon hearing Tweek's comment, having just walked into the room. "Do I?" he asked. "How so?"

Tweek shrugged, and Craig joined him on the bed, facing him as always. "You just seem as though you're anxious about something that's going to happen," the faded blonde continued. "Is something going on?"

"I appreciate how you actually sound like you're asking something now," Craig told him, trying to stall. For some reason, he found himself not wanting to divulge any information about his plans.

"Thanks. Answer the question."

Craig found himself stifling a laugh at Tweek's quirked eyebrow. "Okay, detective," he said. "Yes. I have a date tonight. With Bebe."

To his dismay, Tweek's face fell. "What?" he asked, his voice pitiful.

Craig swallowed. "She attacked me in the hallway today and disappeared before I could say no. According to Clyde, it's gonna be a drag. I'd planned on insulting her to get out of there quick, but apparently, she's too dumb to notice when her new toys are mean, so. I don't know how long I'll be gone." He fought off the strange urge to apologize.

"Oh." Tweek looked downward and shrank, hunching his shoulders and drawing his legs inward. "I see."

Guiltily, Craig muttered, "She's a bitch. It's a one-time thing."

"Sure."

"…" Now Craig frowned. "What, you don't believe me or something?" he asked, crinkling his nose. "I don't like her. In any way. At all. You ought to know that."

Tweek looked away with a grimace. "Neither did Clyde, though, and she had him for—how long? I don't remember." He glanced at Craig for a quick second before again looking pointedly away. "I don't want her to take you over, too. That's not fair."

Craig put his left elbow on his knee and leaned on his hand. "Well, I don't know what to tell you," he said. "There are going to be times when girls want to go out with me on dates. That isn't new." When Tweek didn't look back at him, he snapped his fingers in the apparition's face. He had done this without thinking, and briefly realized it was a stupid sort of thing to do since Tweek was in a different dimension or whatever, but he got the reaction he wanted. "Hey," he admonished when Tweek looked at him head-on. "This isn't new. What's the real problem?"

Tweek wouldn't answer him, so Craig sighed resignedly and got up. "Fine. Tell me what I should wear, then."

"Where are you going?"

Craig blinked. "On a date."

"I _know_. Where _is _the date taking place?"

Tweek sounded really grumpy, which was slightly irritating, but Craig didn't push it. "I don't know. I didn't ask," he admitted. He waited for Tweek to laugh at him, or gape at him, or _something_, but this did not happen. Instead, Tweek looked up carefully at the ceiling, avoiding Craig's eyes.

"Jeans," he said, "but with a dress shirt and a tie."

Craig wanted Tweek to look at him, but he wouldn't. "Okay," he said finally.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You look really _good_, Craig," Bebe giggled from the front seat of his car.

He rolled his eyes as she put a hand on his arm, rubbing a small circle with her thumb. "I like this _jacket_," she said, emphasizing various words for no apparent reason. "Where did _you_..._get_ it from?"

"Dunno," Craig answered, biting the inside of his cheek. "A store, I suppose." It had been an innocent question, but her intended-to-be-sultry voice was giving him a headache.

Bebe smiled sweetly. "There's a little moose, _there_. I guess it's _Abercrombie_." Her Cheshire grin intensified. "_I_ like them, too."

"Oh." Craig pulled into the parking lot of Applebee's and chose a spot close to the door. He didn't want to spend any more time with this girl than he had to.

"Applebees!" Bebe exclaimed as Craig opened her car door for her. "This is like, my _favourite _restaurant."

"Fabulous." Craig waited for her to grab her purse before he closed the door, then turned abruptly to head toward the entrance. Bebe made a feeble attempt to grab at his hand, but he all but slapped it away. "Tucker," he said when they reached the inside. It was almost goofy that in this town, you had to make reservations at Applebees, but it was one of the only restaurants around.

"I love this table," Bebe said once they had been seated at a booth in the corner. "We're so…_isolated_. We could be doing _anything_ back here."

Craig bit his lip, resisting the urge to make a snide comment. "Okay," he said instead. His back was to the wall, leaving him with a wide view of the entire restaurant. He looked out at the crowd of people, some couples, some not. He wondered vaguely if anyone else was as desperate to leave as he was.

"Diet water, please," Bebe said, surprising Craig into realizing there was a waiter at their table. "And leave out the lemon," she added.

Craig raised an eyebrow. "Did you just ask for diet water?" he asked. The waiter stifled a snicker.

"Yeah," the misinformed female drawled, "got to stay fit." She winked.

"Well. I would like chocolate milk. With whole milk, if you could." He grinned at the waiter, apparently named Brian, letting him in on the joke. "And do you have twisty straws?" He watched Bebe force a smile with great satisfaction.

"So. I'm glad we came out tonight," Bebe said encouragingly, putting her carefully manicured hand on top of Craig's, which he'd lazily set on the table. "I've wanted to ask you for a long time."

Uncomfortably shifting in his seat, Craig drew his hand back to scratch his neck. "Huh," he said.

Brian dropped off their drinks, smirking good-naturedly as he handed Craig his chocolate milk, complete with a lime green swirly straw. "Do you need more time?" he asked. Bebe quickly nodded, and the waiter left.

Craig began looking out at the other patrons again. He saw Gary, some gay Mormon kid who'd moved back to South Park in the tenth grade, there with Stan and Kyle. Red's parents were sitting at a table with an old couple, who he assumed were the cheerleader's grandparents. And with Gregory, Christophe, and Jimmy was…

Tweek.

Craig's eyes bulged as Tweek turned his head to look directly at Craig. He was about to freak, but after a single blink, Tweek became Butters, who waved gaily.

Heaving a sigh, Craig slouched into his seat. He had been _so_ sure that that was Tweek…What was wrong with him? _Calm down, Craig_, he told himself. He knew Bebe was talking, but he was too startled to listen—_What the fuck just went down_? he thought anxiously.

"Craig."

He jumped slightly. "What?" he asked in surprise, his breathing still a bit heavy to be healthy.

"What are you ordering?"

To her credit, Bebe had dropped the act and actually looked genuinely concerned. "Uh," Craig breathed. "Grilled cheese. And French fries. And broccoli." He handed his menu to a confused Brian, blinking a few times to clear his head while Bebe ordered.

"What just happened?" she asked when their waiter had walked away.

"Um. Nothing," Craig assured her, throwing a glance to the back of Butters' head.

She hesitated, but then continued babbling, seeming to pick up right where she'd left. Craig occasionally nodded, slipping back into a calm. He must have imagined seeing Tweek.

Looking out around the restaurant again, Craig noticed Annie there with Bridon Gueermo. He was a sophomore, right? Why would they be…

_Oh. Shit._

He watched in awe as Tweek walked past Annie and Bridon's table towards the bathroom. He breathed in sharply as Tweek stopped, then turned around _slowly_, to stare directly at—

"_Craig_!" Bebe exclaimed. The suddenness startled Craig into blinking and, sure enough, when he looked up again, Tweek was gone. "What's _wrong_?" she asked.

"Nothing! Nothing's wrong. Keep talking."

The blonde's eyes narrowed. "I asked you a question, actually," she said. "You're pale as that goth chick." She looked around behind her. "What, did you just see a ghost or something?"

Craig groaned. "No," he said. "Sorry. What was your question?"

"I asked why you and Nellie broke up. She wouldn't tell me. I assumed it was because she was being a bitch to you or something, because that's how _all_ of her relationships end, the poor dear. Or sometimes because she won't put out. I mean, like, even if she knows she's gonna get dumped, she won't do it. It's like she has no respect for herself." She surveyed Craig importantly. "Of course, _I_ never have that problem. Anyway, I hear a rumour that you were cheating on her or something. She's my friend and all, but to be honest, I wouldn't blame you. She's not a very good kisser, after all."

"Grilled cheese?"

Craig looked up to accept his food from Brian, but froze when he saw the blonde figure standing beside the waiter. "Augh!" Craig yelled.

"Craig, baby, what is it?" Bebe asked again, glancing from him to Brian and back, looking frightened. Tweek had vanished. "Did you—"

"I have to go." Craig stood up, pulling out his wallet. "Here's forty for dinner and five for the bus. I'm sorry." He all but ran to the door, leaving a confused Bebe behind.

**AN: I feel horrible that I left this so long you guys. I mean, when I finally finished this, I didn't even remember how to upload to ff. yeah, I've been busy at all, but so are those lovely authors who update regularly, I bet. I seriously am sorry. I swear I'll try harder to update soonish, although keep in mind, I have a shitton of schoolwork at any given time :/ love you guys still! review if you'd like, even if it's just to sternly reprimand me.**

**a guilty, half-hearted ARG!-Cpt. Essex Cole**


	6. hey

This story isn't dead. I plan on reviving it in the near future. I'm really sorry to everyone still waiting, and also to those who lost hope and moved on. I really understand. Thank you so much to everyone who even bothered clicking on this thing.

I hate to be the excuses queen here but I just wanted to explain my absence real quick. Last spring at school I was going through a really rough time with friends who ended up not being who I thought they were. Then in May one of the only people I had left killed herself, which [understandably, I think] turned me off of updating this at all. Then over the summer I was going through the lengthy process of switching schools (a private school, too!), so I really just didn't even think about it. But I still remember how excited I was over this story and how thrilled I was with myself when I finally got the first chapter up and people responded positively.

I had a good thing going with this story. I want to stick it through to the end, because the ending is really fucking good, in my opinion.

There's really no telling when the next update will be as the homework at my school is actually serious business, but I can tell you that I have at least more than half of the next chapter done. It's been sitting around for awhile, so I'm sure it could use a little fixing, but it is on its way. I swear.

I'm pretty sure this is against the rules to post but IDGAF as far as it goes right now. I'll delete this little memo when the next chapter arrives. I just wanted to jolt some of you awake.

Love forevarrrrgh,

Captain Essex Cole


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